Gimmick
by Audmirable
Summary: There always had to be a gimmick. A way to attract viewers, to make them interested. To let them know that this was not like any other games. Otherwise, everything would fall apart.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: yes, this is a SYOT. I'm also pretty sure this is NOT breaking the rules. I'm taking care to do that, really. The application is on my profile. PM me your submission. I look forward to seeing all your pretty tributes. Now, to start off the plot!**

Head Gamemaker Yorick Flen let out a sigh of relief. The arena was finally done. He smiled a bit at the other gamemaker's celebrations, shaking hands and giving congratulations. It had been a difficult job. Last year had been the Fiftieth hunger games, a quarter quell that was bound to be talked about for ages. Not only was the arena absolutely breathtaking, but a boy from twelve had won. Barring the slightly problematic way in which he did it, that games had been practically perfect.

Head Gamemaker Plotkin had retired after that, knowing he would never be able to top that dangerously beautiful arena. So the position had fallen to Yorick. Which put him in a very awkward position. Not only was it his first year, but it was coming off of a very successful games. The capitol was going to want more. They were going to need it to be spectacular.

As such, Yorick and his crew had been working around the clock ever since the last games to deliver something absolutely wonderful. Something that would be able to stand against the impressive shadow of the quarter quell. That was where the gimmick came in.

There always had to be a gimmick. A way to attract viewers, to make them interested. To let them know that this was not like any other games. Otherwise, everything would fall apart.

It was Clara Yew who had thought of it. A quiet girl with wide eyes that seemed to take in everything. When Yorick had first worked with her on the quell, he had thought that she seemed ill suited to the position of gamemaker. But the woman had a keen mind, and one sentence during a brainstorming session had paved the way for this new arena. He owed her something, and Yorick idly thought that perhaps he would give her more opportunity to shine next year if these games turned out well.

It was only a week until the reapings. Soon, all of their hard work would come to fruition. Yorick couldn't wait. This would be a games to remember.


	2. The Capitol: An interview

**AN: we need some more applications. Like lots. Please join. This SYOT is gonna be so awesome. Also, given that I am having some trouble getting applications, you can submit up to two characters. I don't guarantee I'll accept them, but it does increase your chances.**

Yorick smiled at the cameras which awaited him outside of the tall white building that the gamemakers used for their meetings. He had always loved attention. Ever since he was a child he had demanded that all eyes be on him at all times. It wasn't the only reason he had chosen to become a gamemaker, but it was one of the side benefits that he truly did enjoy. The Hunger Games was one of the greatest events to be a part of, and the gamemakers were right there in the middle of it. He had heard many complaints from his coworkers about reporters accosting them for secrets about the arena, but Yorick had never minded it. He adored the press, giving them winking smiles and vague hints about the games to come. Head Gamemaker Plotkin had detested this tendency of Yoricks, occasionally leaving him out of important details. But now the department no longer belonged to Gamemaker Plotkin, and he was free to as he wished. Yorick planned to usher in a new era with his games. The further inclusion of the press in early stages of the games was just the beginning.

"Really, I couldn't have done any of this spectacular arena without the intrepid young gamemaker Clara Yew." He told the press, beaming madly. At that moment, he saw the exact girl he was mentioning leave the white building. It was too good of an opportunity to pass off. "Clara! Clara, come here for a minute." He called out to her. The woman stopped, paling a bit when she realized what was being asked of her. She played a bit with the silver ring she always wore until the bird on it was hardly visible, then joined Yorick in front of the press.

Yorick was not usually a man to share his spotlight, but this woman had helped him launch his career. It was only fair that he launch hers. "All of this was her idea." He announced to the crowd, clapping her on the back. Clara gave a small smile and a modest nod.

"Really it was you who made this all a reality." She answered. Many of the press had to move closer in order to hear her. "I just gave a suggestion. And made the platforms."

"That's right, you did make the platforms didn't you?" Yorick answered. He hid his irritation behind a wide smile. He was doing Clara a favor here, and she didn't seem to appreciate it at all. "So now when you see the platforms, remember that those were the work of Clara Yew."

Clara smiled modestly, then excused herself from the crowd. Yorick beamed more at the reporters gathering around, frantic about the news of some sort of platforms being in this year's games. "I think I've answered enough questions for today. It's only two days until the reapings, you all don't have much longer to wait." With that, Yorick also disappeared from the crowd.

Part of maintaining public image was knowing how to quit when you were ahead.


	3. Abilee: The reapings

**AN: So, I am an impatient sort and have decided to start. There are still spots open, including three PoV slots, so while the story is beginning to roll don't think you've been left out. Open positions are now on my profile. Once again, two tributes per person in now allowed. And don't be discouraged if you weren't picked for a PoV. Foxface didn't have a PoV. Neither did Finnick or Peeta or Haymitch. And I assure you, by the end of this all twenty four tributes will have contributed something important to the plot. Which this story has. JOIN THE SYOT, WE HAVE PLOT! Anyway, time to introduce the lovely Abilee Wilkin.**

I like quiet places. Most people I know seem to love the rush of a crowd, but it just gives me a headache. The sounds rattle around my head like drums, and there's no way to be rid of it. I would rather sit by myself, somewhere quiet, where I understand everything and everything understands me.

It's reaping day, and I know that soon enough I am going to have to go out of the quiet, into the noise and bustle and the barely concealed terror. I know exactly how I'm going to act. I will smile, I will stare into the distance and do something to keep me busy. Maybe I'll knit, maybe I'll bring the puzzle box that my grandmother gave me. I won't talk to anyone, I'll keep to myself and try to make my own quiet with my lack of speech. It will not work of course, but I will try. And I will pretend as if the games do not bother me. As if the violence doesn't make my heart feel like a small animal is slowly taking bites out of it.

But that is when I go to the reaping, not now. Right now I am in a quiet spot, knitting. The needles and the faint sound of birds the only noises. I like the rhythm that knitting makes. It's exact, it's familiar. I can chase away the chaos with those two needles of mine. Sometimes I don't even know what I'm knitting, but I do it anyway. Most people call me silly for it. I imagine many people would laugh if they saw me now, hair matted in my eyes, knitting in a tree with my eyes focused skyward. I wouldn't let them know how much it hurt if they did.

I let time slip by me for a while, and it scarcely feels like any has passed when my mother comes to get me. She calls me down from the tree, a look of patience on her face. I do love my mother. She doesn't understand me, of course. But I don't really understand her. Yet me, her, and my father manage to get along all right. We do love each other. I like to think that matters. My mother is dressed rather nicely today, which is appropriate for the reapings. She tells me that I should get ready as well. So I climb down from the tree and enter my room. I don't talk, of course. I'm not a fan of talking.

I choose a simple blue dress and tie a ribbon around the waist to make it look more fancy. I think it looks rather nice. I even try to work with my hair, though it comes out as frizzy and puffs out in a frustrating way. I try to make myself look less like a poodle, and succeed a little bit before heading out to the town square.

It's crowded, as I knew it would be, and I find myself stepping into the routine I use when anything is too noisy. Don't talk, eyes down, keep to yourself. It will pass. It is taking a long time. Greca Hiddleton, district three's capitol escort, appears to have gotten lost despite this being the fourth year of coming here. So we all wait for her. People start talking among themselves and the noise gets louder, until Greca finally appears and the crowd dies down for a few minutes.

I am among the few people who listen to the presentation. It's the same as every year, but I listen anyway. About the rebellion, and district thirteen, and the start of the hunger games. Just like every year, I'm surprised at how clean it sounds. At how they can take all that pain and suffering and make it really boring. They stop talking about death eventually, and for a brief moment Greca looks as if she doesn't remember what she is supposed to be doing. Then she snaps back to herself and heads over to the great glass jar that holds the names of all the girls in district three.

My name is in there, though not very many times. I try not to think about it, but I end up doing it anyway. My name is in there, and as little chance as it is Greca could always pull my name out. Even as I'm thinking this, I'm a bit surprised when she does.

I stand there for a moment, just letting it sink in. Then I walk slowly up to the stage. Meander, really. I'm not in a rush. They can wait for me. I don't say anything, just loop around until I'm finally on the stage. I don't think anyone can tell how scared I am. How full I am of fear and hate and disgust. Perhaps I'm all right with that. I don't really want them to see.

Greca smiles at me, a little kind, a little oblivious, a little lost. Maybe in different circumstances we would have been friends. I know what it's like to never really know where you're going. She asks me my name, and it's the first words I speak all day.

"Abilee Wilkin."

At this moment, my name feels like a death sentence.


	4. Ares: Train ride

**AN: We only need ten more tributes! Thank you so so so much everyone who applied, even those who I've rejected. This is going to be such a great SYOT, and I owe it to your interest. Anyway, the story continues. Introducing the wonderful Ares Boothe.**

I've never been on a train before, and I'm not entirely sure that I like it. The travel is just far too smooth. I am used to the rolling of the ocean beneath me when I go somewhere. Trains are soulless somehow, and the extravagance of the car I'm in just seems to attract attention to it. I had grown up among wealth of course, my father was a former victor, but it had never really meant much to me. The things I valued never seemed to be worth much money, much to my father's dismay. I could see why he went to the capitol whenever he could. He did seem to be a fan of being a victor, and everything that came with it. The gold lacing the doorways and windows, the wide variety of food, the paintings that I could find lavishly strewn around any car that I happened to be occupying, it was a little pretentious for my tastes. It made me want to steal off somewhere with Mia, somewhere pleasant and uncomplicated. But that would have to wait until I finished the tournament.

To pass the time, my district partner and I were watching the other district's reapings. It was a great time to get a good look at the competition. That was why I was here, after all. My father had a habit of ranting to me about honor and glory and things like that, but that sort of thing never mattered to me. The fight was what mattered. The challenge, the adrenaline, the stakes of winning and losing. There were many things I disliked about being a career, but the fighting had never been one of them. Now was my chance to really prove myself. The finest kids of district one and two would be at the hunger games. And there was often a surprising tribute or two in the other districts. Not to say I really wanted to hurt anyone, but that was part of fighting. And the combat was going to be such a great challenge.

"Oooh, this one looks promising." Gen said, multitasking between watching the screen and piling up some sweets onto a plate. Genniver Green was my district partner, and career like me. Her long hair and her bubbly nature made me think that if I hadn't seen her coming out of the sixteen year old section, I would have thought she was younger. Even though she wasn't, her being here was a little confusing. It's true that district four was the most relaxed of the career districts. Sometimes we didn't have volunteers at all. But I don't see why the trainers would recommend a sixteen year old girl go in, especially one as sweet as her. I hope that she doesn't get hurt too bad in the arena.

I look over to the screen to look at a fairly imposing girl from district seven. She'd be pretty if she wasn't trying so hard to stare through everyone. And there was something in her eyes that made me wary. Gen was right, there was potential there. She wouldn't be a helpless weakling that I could easily take out. She was capable of killing, and she would do anything necessary. That look made my stomach flutter just a bit.

"She really needs to ditch the black makeup though. It's hideous. She's going to benefit so much from the capitol. Do you think they'll let us go shopping once we get there? I would love a capitol dress. Their fashion is just so bold, don't you think?" Gen babbles on, and I almost don't realize that she had asked me a question. I blink a couple times, trying to think of what would be the best thing to say. "Uh… I'm not really a fashion person. But the things they wear really are quite… bold."

She laughs, a tinkling thing that is joyous and innocent. "It's so beautiful. I want to be able to wear stuff like that every day! Of course I will, after I win. And I'll make sure that all of my servants do too, because no one with me is going to look ugly."

I can't help but smile at that. There's a certain charm to Gen. Perhaps not the deepest person in the world, but her enthusiasm is catching. And while on my way to the hunger games might not be the best time to try and make friends, I might as well try. I have so few of them as it is. "I'm sure all of your servants would thank you for that." I tell her.

The small girl beams at me, obviously pleased at what I've said."I think I like you." She says, "I'm going to butcher everyone of course, but I think you'll be the last one I kill."

The words throw me for a second, but I quickly recover. So this is her strategy. Throw out threatening words and hope that someone believes her. I had seen this tactic work a few times in previous games, but they had all been much more imposing than the little girl by my side. And even if she had been built like a brick wall, I hated the tactic. We were here to fight, that's what we should do. Not stand around talking about how we were going to fight. Talking never got anyone anywhere. "Brave words. Shame I don't believe them." I tell her. She looks at me pensively for a moment and slowly begins to grin in a way that makes me fairly uncomfortable. She grabs the chain that had been hanging around her neck and pulls it up so that I can see her necklace. It is an odd looking pendant, made with a gear of some sort.

"This is from an alarm clock." She explains to me. I don't like the gleam in her eyes. "I used it to kill a fellow student. When I was twelve." She's grinning now with pure malicious delight and while I still think she's wasting time with talk, I'm becoming more inclined to believe her.

I take my eyes off of her for a second, and when I look back, she's gone. I hear her distinctive giggle and feel the pressure of what can only be a knife across my throat. "Please don't make me kill you now Ares. I want you to help me. And I hate not getting what I want." Her tone turns pouty and the knife presses into me, causing a shallow gash. "Absolutely hate it!"

The minute the blood starts, everything but the fight fades away. My arm comes up, grabbing where Gen's hand meets the handle of the knife, and twisting it away from my neck. She drops the knife, but twirls out of my grasp, almost like a dancer. She draws another knife, and gracefully sprints towards me. I don't try to sidestep, already realizing she's faster than me. Instead, I go for the preemptive strike and throw an uppercut where I assume she will be. Unfortunately, that's not where she ended up at all. Once again, the sixteen year old has managed to get behind me.

"What is going on here?" a voice shouts out, and I look over to see my mentor Karl looking over at us, his pudgy face turning a beet red. Gen quickly steps away from me and puts down her knife. I try not to look relieved.

"Ares was just showing me some techniques. He really is smart, and he's two whole years older than me, so there's a lot of things he knows!" Genniver says. She's back to being a bubbly ray of sunshine, and I almost tell my mentor the truth when she looks at me again. There's murder in her eyes. As embarrassing as it is, I'm afraid of this girl. She's obviously unstable, and on top of that she can fight. I do feel like I'm better, but she is much faster and I get the distinct feeling that she is not the type to play fair. If I don't play things right, I'll end up dead before I ever get to the Arena.

"Exactly." I stutter out, "Gen's a really fast learner." I don't think it's a very good lie, and Karl doesn't seem to believe me, but he doesn't do anything. "Just remember you two are each other's competition." He says, and walks away.

Gen beams at me and sits down to return to reaping videos. "I knew we were going to be friends." She says, "This District One girl looks fun. Though Charlotte is a silly name. But those reapings are really eventful. I wish we could beat people up during our reapings instead of just letting the trainers choose someone. It took me threatening one of them to get here, can you believe it? She's got some serious fire. Do you think she'll beat your seven girl, Ares? I saw you looking. You liiiike her."

I don't have anything to say, so I keep silent. Gen doesn't seem to mind. She just blabbers on, about fashion and violence. Every passing moment making me realize just how much I wasn't prepared for this.


	5. Jonna: A shopping trip

**AN: We only have five tribute spots left. Isn't that exciting? I would like to thank everyone who participated in this. I have gotten so many lovely tributes. That's all I really have to say, so just enjoy some plot and the introduction of Jonna Sharma. **

The Capitol is a big place. Big and overwhelming. I don't want to be here. I want to be home, sitting on the pews listening to my father. Sitting next to my mother, taking in the scent of pine that she always seems to have around her. I want my friends, what little I have, and my family. I want my things and the weekly routines and the way the sunlight pokes through the trees around midday. But I can't go back yet. This simple, terrible fact is difficult to take. I want to go home already and hardly anything's happened.

My mentor, an aging man named Quinn, had insisted on taking me out shopping in the capitol. Which was why I was currently pressed against him as tightly as he'd let me as we walk through the crowded streets. I ask him to take me home, but he only shakes his head. "You want to go home, don't you?" he asks. I nod. Of course I do. There is nothing in the world I want more, even without my promise to my mother ringing in my ears. "Then you do as I say."

Quinn doesn't say anything else. He isn't a talker. What I have learned from him was that he used to work in the lumber mill, like my mother does. He does seem to smell faintly of pine, though I have to concentrate to notice it. It was enough for me to trust him. Quinn would get me home if I could, I just had to listen to him.

We round the corner and see a couple familiar faces. Mercy, the girl tribute from my district, and her mentor Arlessa are flitting about a hat shop. I have never seen either of them do anything so frivolous before, and for the first time since I've gotten here I laugh. Arlessa seems to hear it, and her and Quinn lock eyes. Both of the girls come towards us, and I continue to pretend that I am part of Quinn's leg.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asks, and Arlessa gives a lazy shrug. "The same thing you are, I suppose." That doesn't please Quinn at all. My mentor goes rigid, and closes the space between them. Most people get scared at that. I had seen Quinn get his way several times already just by throwing his weight around. He might be getting older, but he was still pretty formidable. Arlessa however doesn't even flinch. " Did you think that I would abandon such a brilliant little strategy just because you thought of it first? All's fair in love and games, honey."

I'm still not sure what's going on, so I look over to Mercy for help. She's impassive, as always. Her green eyes forming walls so that I can't tell what's going on in her head. She only looks at me for a short while, before focusing back on the arguing mentors. I've missed some of the conversation, but I do the same.

"What's the problem dear? It's a win-win situation. We both give our little stars some limelight, and together it doesn't seem quite as obviously staged. Are you really so unwilling to share?" Arlessa sticks out her lip in a fake pout, and while I feel like Quinn is going to hit her, he eventually nods. "Vulture." He mutters, and Arlessa beams. "You're so sweet to me. Now, I think it's about time we get moving."

The three of us walk together, going in and out of shops, buying something every once in a while. Arlessa engages me in some polite conversation, and I'm glad to be able to talk to someone. I'm not a fan of crowds, but they are much different than quiet groups of people I already know. I really enjoy people then. It is a shame that the others aren't as talkative. Mercy even seems like she is going out of her way to make sure that she doesn't talk to anyone. Of course, the first time we met she told me that I was a weakling who believed in a higher power because I had no strength of my own. So I couldn't tell if her unwillingness to talk was because of her nature or because of me. Or maybe she said things like that just because she knew she would be trying to kill me later. I didn't know. She was difficult to read.

I am admiring an intricate wooden box when Quinn catches my attention and pulls me towards a tall stranger. "Jonna, there's someone I want you to meet." He says, and the tall man extends his hand towards me. I take it, and we engage in some small talk about the weather and how I like the capitol. It is awkward at first, but he seems so interested in me that I open up, and end up talking energetically about myself without any real self restraint. The man doesn't seem to mind, although he does eventually take his focus off of me and start talking to Mercy. The girl rolls her eyes and refuses to engage in conversation. Rather than being annoyed like most people would be, he seems almost amused. It confuses me.

"Well, district seven has a fine pair of tributes this year, doesn't it? I will be watching the two of you. Best of luck." The man says, and he disappears into the crowd. "Who was that?" I ask Quinn. The whole conversation seemed very odd to me.

"A sponsor." He replies, "If they see you outside of the interviews, they've got a better chance of remembering you. That's why we're here."

Things suddenly make sense now, and I'm relieved to have a mentor who is so firmly looking out for my well being. We meet several other sponsors, and many of them seem rather nice. It's strange to think that they are really just waiting for me to die. Or even worse, to kill. It makes the whole day feel like it's stained with blood.

"Jonna, are you still with us?" Quinn asks, and I find myself in front of another sponsor. She's a young woman, with wide eyes and a quiet demeanor. She smiles at me shyly and offers her hand. "Hello. I'm Clara." She says, and I take her hand. "I'm Jonna. Though I guess you know that. A lot of people seem to know my name now." She nods, but doesn't say anything. It seems an odd contrast to all of the others, who seemed absolutely full of questions. I like her quiet demeanor. It makes me feel a little less like a dog trained to do tricks.

"Do you like instruments?" she asks eventually. I almost ask her why she was asking when I realize that we're in a music shop. Things had been so hectic that I slowly began to lose track of where we were. "Well, what little I've heard." I answer, "There's not a lot of them in district seven. Although there was an organ in my father's church. I did always love listening to it." Clara nods, and seems to think for a moment. "I think I saw an organ over there, would like to come look with me?" she asks. I look over to Quinn, whose eyes seem to be practically pushing me toward it, then nod and follow her.

There is in fact an organ in the corner of the shop. It's beautiful and old. I run my hands gently across the keys, feeling a small pang of homesickness as I do. "Are you scared?" Clara asks me. I withdraw my hand. "I'm terrified. But I promised my mother I'd come back. I promised her I would do anything. And so I will. Even if I am scared."

The woman smiles at me sadly, and seems like she is going to take my hand for a moment before deciding against it. "Well, I guess at one point or another we all have to accept change. Some more than others." She tells me, "Just stay strong, ok?" I nod, and the woman comes closer to me. She whispers in my ear.

"And remember Haymitch Abernathy."

She pulls away and slips out of the shop before I can say anything else. I stare at the place where she was until Quinn puts his hand on my shoulder. "That looks like it went well." He says, and I tell him that it did, though my mind is elsewhere. Mercy seems to notice. She looks at me with those unreadable eyes and without even a warning pulls me away from Quinn and Arlessa and into a room that I'm pretty sure was the girl's lavatory.

"What was that about?" she snaps at me, blocking the door so that I can't leave until I tell her. "That woman. Clara. She's part of the rebellion." I say, and Mercy snorts. "Are you sure of that? She could just be pretending to be part of the rebellion because she knows we're from seven and has realized you're stupid. Did you tell her anything."

"Of course I didn't." Although I don't really tell Mercy that even if I had, there wasn't really anything to tell. Seven was a mess right now, but I wasn't really a part of it. Both my family and the church tried to stay neutral about it, helping those we can and staying out of the way of rebels and peacekeeprs alike.

Mercy rolls her eyes, but steps away from the door. "Just keep your mouth shut. One slip of the tongue could cost a lot of lives." I nod at her, but quickly scramble out of the bathroom and find Quinn. I'm ready to go back to the quarters. I've had entirely too much excitement today.


	6. Kaenas: Chariots

**AN: So we only have one more spot, isn't that exciting? I thank everyone for showing such interest in this story. And now I ask you one thing. Review! Tell me who you like, who you don't like, what you think will happen, arena guesses, anything. I love reading that stuff. And if a lot of people want to see two tributes interact, or seem to favor one person, well I'll just have to take that into account. So happy reading. It's time to meet Kaenas Vick.**

This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. I'm standing in a small area where all of the tributes and their stylists are making last minute adjustments. Twenty three other children and their various caretakers are running about, talking and whining and looking absolutely ridiculous. The room is full of miners and trees and people wrapped in thread. Even the ones who look actually decent are pretty weird. The girl from District four has an amazingly intricate dress on, and an equally intricate ship on her head. Both of the tributes from district two are painted gray and draped in white. The stylist keeps on saying something about Roman statues, but as breathtaking as they are, I really don't get it.

I personally am an ear of corn. And they couldn't even just leave it at that. Oh no, I have to be a piece of 'sexy corn'. My stylist has gotten it into his head that since I don't run up and tell my life story to everyone I meet, they're going to have to try to sell me on my appearance. So here I am in a ridiculously long headpiece and a yellow textured vest that covers entirely too little of me. What there is of the outfit looks terrible. It takes all the self control I have not to throw the stupid thing off and walk out of this place stark naked. Perhaps I would, if I didn't value my life. Or if I didn't value Briar's.

Briar is only a few feet away from me, sitting to the side of the room and biting her nails. I will say one thing for my stylist, he's got the taste of a blind gopher but at least he's trying. Briar's seemed to have stopped caring a long time ago. Her dress is pretty, I guess, and made of similar material as my outfit. But it doesn't stand out in any way. It's just there, forgettable. Far more like Briar than I would like to admit.

"You shouldn't do that, you know." I say, sitting down next to her. She looks over to me and smiles. It's a bit sheepish, but warm. "I can't help it. There's a lot of people." She says, finally putting her hands down. Her words are clear, which is a good sign. It means she's not too panicked yet. "You nervous?" I ask her and she nods. "Aren't you?" she says. I give her a smile, which I hope is convincing. "Nah," I say, "We're smiths right? We just have to make sure the gamemakers give us a hammer or two and we'll be just fine." I neglect to say that we'd have to get to the hammers first. I'm trying to cheer her up, after all.

"She would be much better off if she could go through a sentence without tripping over it." Our escort Ferus mutters. I hadn't seen him approach. Out of all of the escorts, he was always dressed the least obnoxiously. He had this odd fascination with district eleven, looking at us like we were fascinating insects. Most of his garments he had actually purchased in our district, though he had gotten them fringed with expensive fabrics in the capitol. It made him much harder to pin down than the other escorts. Maybe I should give him a bell and tell him it is the height of district eleven fashion.

"We don't need your help Ferus." I say without even looking at him. We've had this fight before. "No one is going to want to watch a girl with a stutter, Kaenas. It's just sad and difficult to understand. I think we were making so much progress with the coaching I was giving her. Don't you think so Briar?" He says, and redirects his attention to my cousin.

Briar looks down at the ground and mumbles for a bit, which Ferus takes as support. "I don't see why you're so against this, Kaenas. Teaching her to speak properly is good for everyone." I fail to see how bringing her to tears every night is helpful, but I'm tired of talking. Instead I just glare at him.

"Your cousin has a serious attitude problem." Ferus tells Briar, "It's a shame that's not as easily fixed as a stutter." Briar attempts to say something but gets stuck on a 'k' sound and eventually goes quiet. Ferus gives out a long sigh and leaves.

"If you really do want to fix it, we can find someone. Someone other than that creep." I tell her as I gently pull her hand away from her mouth again, "But I don't think anything's wrong with you. You just get nervous sometimes." She smiles at me and takes a couple of deep breaths to calm herself.

"I'm glad you're here, Kaenas. Well, not here here. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. But I'm glad you're with me." She says. "Oh, I see how it is." I tell her, feigning indignation. She sticks out her tongue and we both laugh. I wish I could tell her that I am glad she is here with me too, but I'm not. Briar and I have lived together since we were young, she's practically a sister to me. But if we make it to the final two, I don't actually know whether I could sacrifice myself for her.

My mother would be devastated if she knew I thought like that.

We sit there in silence for a moment before it is time to board our chariots. My stylist comes up to me right before we leave and starts fussing with my headpiece until we start moving. I steal a reassuring glance at Briar, and steel myself for whatever comes.

I should be used to crowds. District eleven is big and we tend to work in groups. But the sheer amount of people looking over us is daunting. So many people just waiting to see us die.

The amount of attention is intimidating, and I find myself freezing up. I stand there, hands gripping so tightly to the chariot that it hurts, and try not to make any eye contact with anyone. Beside me, Briar is in a similar state. The girl from district ten does a handstand, and the crowd roars in delight. No one notices the two scared tributes from district eleven. I am sort of glad of that.

The pageant finishes and I throw off the stupid outfit as soon as I can, put on my work clothes, and find a quiet place where I can blend into the shadows. I have learned over the years how to disappear, and now is as good a time as any to use it. I just sit by myself for what seems like hours when my mentor Chaff finally comes in to find me. I step out of my hiding place and nod to him. "Well, you didn't fall out of the chariot. So we'll call this a win." He says, and I can't help but laugh bitterly. He chuckles a bit, and reaches out for me. "Come on. Training starts tomorrow, and you've got a long ways to go."

I refuse to take his hand, but I do follow him. He's been mingling with the sponsors today, which means that he stumbles occasionally and I have to help him up before he can wobble his way forward a few more minutes. "Oh, before I forget. A gamemaker and I had a pleasant conversation today. She wanted me to give you this." Chaff says, and hands me a book. "Um… I can't read well." I tell him. He laughs in a matter that only someone under the influence of alcohol can. "Then we'll get someone who can, I suppose."

I thumb through it, reading what I can. It's a book of speech therapy techniques. I get through it all right, but I'll probably need to get someone to help me anyway. I reach the end and see a golden picture of a mockingjay in the bottom corner. Which is odd, to say the least. I am usually reluctant to accept gifts from strangers, but anything in this book will be better than Ferus screaming at my cousin to stop stuttering.

"Thank you." I say, and we continue on our way.


	7. Athea: Training, part one

**AN: So, this took a while. Sorry. But hey, it's done now! I feel like warning some people though, while I am trying to give all of the tributes screen time and interesting things to do, it is twenty four people. Some of them might get a bit lost in the clutter. I am trying not to do that of course, but people are going to start dying a few chapters from now, so I want you to be prepared for that. Anyway, here is a new chapter with Athea DiMae.**

Starting a rebellion is hard.

District five had been trying of course, ever since the twelve boy won the last hunger games. The riots and protests had been happening on and off for almost a year now. But it didn't really do much. Isolated as we are, it's really just a lot of destruction. We doubt the other districts know about us. And if any other district is rebelling, we don't know that either. The capitol's control is a hard thing to break, and I was beginning to think that my dreams of overthrowing the capitol would never happen.

Yet here I am, reaped and preparing for the hunger games. If one boy from district twelve could shake things up without even meaning to, It was hard to imagine what I could do. If I survived that is. So this was the new plan. Survive the hunger games, start a rebellion, destroy capitol oppression. If only actually doing it was as easy as the plan was.

Destry is leaning on a wall a few feet away from me, eating a sandwich that someone must have given to him. Or possibly not. I could never tell with my district mate. Fifteen years old, and he was still shadier than a grave at midnight. But I tolerated him, if for no reason other than he would be a better ally than enemy.

"Lamia said that you're missing toes." I said, trying to start a conversation and only later realizing how morbid that was. I silently curse myself for my lack of tact. I had better sense than that. Destry doesn't seem to mind however, and just gives me a toothy grin. "I am. Wanna see?" he asks, and I find myself nodding my head. As soon as he sees it, the younger boy has flipped off his shoe and is showing me his foot. There are indeed two toes missing, amputated from the looks of it. The cuts are clean and the stubs where the toes should have been had healed quite nicely.

"How did that happen?" I ask, trying not to cringe away from the sight. Injuries are never pleasant to look at, but that's no reason to be rude.

"Conveyor belt."

I raise my eyebrows, but he just grins at me. "You've never worked near the coal belts, have you?" I shake my head. "My parents were in research and development, so I was mostly in labs before they died, and afterwards I did odd jobs. Shops and news runs and things. To be honest, I've rarely stepped inside a plant." Destry lets out a giggle, as if this admission has somehow made me less of a member of District five. I let him laugh it out, which he eventually does.

Destry pushes himself off of the wall and offers me part of his sandwich. I take it. "So it's your turn now." He says. I snap my head up instantly. "I don't know what you're talking about." I say. Far too quickly. Even if the boy wasn't perceptive he would have seen through that lie. "Don't play dumb. I watch you. I see you limping sometimes."

I don't feel like trying to run circles around him so I hike up the pants that I'm wearing and let him see my bullet wound. It has mostly smoothed over, but some scar tissue is still visible. And there's still a small hole, of course. But I'm not going to show Destry that. A girl is entitled some secrets after all.

"That did not heal very well." Destry says, taking a bite out of his sandwich. I glare at him. Of course it didn't heal well. I barely had enough money to take care of myself and my brother. Even if I had, seeing someone about it would have been risky. If anyone knew that Micah and I were still around, living in our old house, they would have sent us somewhere else. Given that I had to take care of it myself, I thought that it was actually a pretty good job. Of course, Destry couldn't know that. I didn't want him to know that. So I stopped staring at him and rolled down my pants.

"Lunch is almost done. What station are you going to?" I ask, eager for a change of subject. Destry finishes his meal and looks around at the various tributes who are now filing back into the training rooms. "Some sort of survival skill, I think. Can't say I'd be good at combat. What about you?"

I can't say that I'd be good at combat either, but perhaps that's why I want to try it. I know my weaknesses, and I am determined to use this time so that they're less likely to get me killed. "Hand to hand. I'll see you later." I tell him, and with a nod Destry saunters off.

I make my way to the hand to hand station, passing by several other tributes. In one corner a boy talks about ancient reptiles to an uninterested girl whose smile didn't quite reach her green eyes. Near the edible plants station, the twelve year old from district nine was sorting through her options with a steady hand. I sidestep away from the girl from district ten, who decided to do a cartwheel before looking first, and start my hand to hand training.

"Want to wrestle?"

The voice sounds about ten minutes after I start, and I turn around to see a tall boy looking at me and smirking like an idiot. It's pretty obvious that fighting isn't what he's looking for. I smile at him anyway. "Sure." I tell him, then land a right hook to his jaw. It isn't hard, but he isn't expecting it and the boy reels back a bit. "I didn't mean… but if that's what you want, I could never say no to a beautiful lady."

The boy falls into an imperfect but workable fighting stance and I can't help but laugh at him "I bet you say that to all the tributes." He throws a punch and I block, barely. It temporarily throws me off balance, and the boy probably would have taken the opportunity to hit me again if the hand to hand trainer didn't see us at that moment. She drags me away from the boy and I am once again limited to punching dummies.

It isn't long before the boy is beside me again. "On the contrary. I believe you are quite beautiful. You probably have a good chance of winning. You just have to be charming. Charming and tragic." He begins to throw a couple half hearted punches at a nearby dummy and I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean by tragic?"

The boy shrugs. "Everyone likes a good sad story. And everyone has one. It's just a matter of letting the capitol know, really."

I think about this. I hadn't really factored the capitol in to my plans, possibly because I was so busy trying to fight them that I didn't think about using them. But the boy had a point. People who the sponsors favored did have a better shot at things. Maybe I should try to capture their attention. But that meant talking about my parents. Was that something I was willing to do? Could I talk about the people who the capitol murdered in a way that would curry their favor? The thought made me a little sick to my stomach. And yet, this was the way I would win the hunger games. By making allies, in and out of the arena.

"My name is Athea." I tell the boy next to me. "Athea, a pretty name for a pretty girl. I'm Janus." I shake his hand. I'm still not entirely sure about him, but he's got a good head on his shoulders and likes me well enough. I am not going to turn down help of any kind.

Things aren't definite yet, but a part of me feels more optimistic. Between Janus and Destry, I might actually have a chance at this.

And then, the capitol would burn.


End file.
